


Stolen

by Sun_Sparks



Category: South Park
Genre: Baking, Butters encouraging arguments, Canon Era, Dating But Fighting, Happy Ending, M/M, Thief, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 02:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15854145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sun_Sparks/pseuds/Sun_Sparks
Summary: Tweek doesn’t always appreciate being the son of the town’s sole coffee shop owners, but every now and then comes a heavenly exception in the form of baked goods. His mom doesn’t bake particularly often, opting to repackage an arrangement of cookies and cakes from a Costco run, but when she does, Tweek thanks all the gods he can name that they blessed his mother with the baking skills of an angel.The absence of his treats in his locker turns his blood cold.





	Stolen

Tweek doesn’t always appreciate being the son of the town’s sole coffee shop owners, but every now and then comes a heavenly exception in the form of baked goods. His mom doesn’t bake particularly often, opting to repackage an arrangement of cookies and cakes from a Costco run, but when she does, Tweek thanks all the gods he can name that they blessed his mother with the baking skills of an angel.

Of course, he doesn’t get them fresh. He’s not allowed. They’re for customers, says his dad. “When you can pay for them, then you can have them”, he’d say. Tweek wonders how he’s supposed to pay for anything when he doesn’t get any pocket money or paid for his slave labour, but he’s happy to make do until he can. He gets his goodies when they’re a little past their best. He always hopes the customers won’t buy the whole lot, so he takes to subtly hiding them underneath other cookies or brownies to be “unfortunately” found when they’ve gone a bit stale and therefore unsellable. It’s only then that he’s allowed to take some for lunch.

Today’s treasures are a thick triple chocolate cookie, filled with a delectable, gooey cherry sauce of some sort inside and topped with chopped walnuts. They’re slightly bigger than the ones his mom usually makes and probably a hundred times more delicious. Since the moment he saw her with the mixing bowl, he made it his top priority to snag two for himself and Craig. For the past two days, he’d looked on hungrily at the shop’s patrons, as they’d bite into their sweet treats and stain their shirts with that claret coloured jam. He’d focussed in on those cookies, like a predator stalking its prize; he is a lion, and the cookies are his prey.

Tweek can't wait until lunchtime. Seconds felt like hours and hours felt like decades, and both passed painfully slow; time is a snail with nowhere to be and moves just as slowly. He figures it always feels like this when one anticipates something. The wait just makes the pay-off better, like the first cup of coffee when he gets home from school.

The absence of his treats in his locker turns his blood cold.

Hegoes to who he considers to be the likeliest to have taken then while he wasn't looking with a sense of resolve.

“Ngh- Cartman, man,” he begins as his ear briefly touches his shoulder. “Did you, eat my -ah!- cookies?”

“Oh heeey, Tweek,” says Cartman, as he draws out the vowels of Tweek's name. “What cookies? Those _delectable, moist_ , triple chocolate cookies they sell at Tweek Bros?”

Tweek narrows his eyes. He’s ready to kick some ass.

“The ones with the gooey cherry centre?” he continues, lengthening each word past reasonability. Cartman brings a chubby hand up to his hand and strokes his chin in a mocking display of pondering. “Let’s seeeee. Nope!”

Tweek shifts his weight back and forth between each foot, pent up and ready to let loose at any given moment. He is a tightly wound coil ready to spring into action; a snake ready to fatally bite its victim before devouring it whole. Those were his cookies and he won’t stand for theft of something that belongs to him.

“Then, ngh-, how do you know which ones I’m talking about?!”

“Because they’re just. So. Yummyyy, Tweek!”

“ _Where are they?!_ ”, he screeches with a little less control that he’d like.

“I ate them,” Cartman smirks, licking his lips. “Kyle’s been waiting months for your mom to bake more and I just-so-happened to buy them all before your tills could be tainted with filthy Jew gold. You’re welcome.”

Tweek pauses for a moment.

“You’re the one that buys them all?”

A roar of laughter erupts from Cartman’s overly sweet smile. “Every single one. The look of disappointment on Kyle’s face is almost just as killer as your mom’s baking.”

Tweek deflates at hearing this. He was almost sure it would have been Cartman and he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was. At the current moment, he’s back to where he first started, cookieless, angry and hungry. Tweek is a cheetah, tired from chasing its dinner that fell back to the safety of the pack.

“Do you know who took mine?” he says, as he lets out another involuntary twitch. “I had two in my locker this morning and now they're gone.”

“Ooh, Tweek,” Carmen days as he goes back to a syrupy sweet drawl, “You’re breaking my _balls_ , here.”

A clammy hand is rested on Tweek’s shoulder and Cartman pushes himself close enough that their bodies are almost touching. Tweek never enjoys interacting with Cartman. Everything is always an exchange for something else, nothing is ever free. He can feel the unwelcome warmth of Cartman's palm seep through his thin shirt, and the stale scent of cheesy poofs ruin his shirt.

“I guess I could tell you who I saw with your cookies, but I'll need something in return.”

It’s at this moment his partner comes to rescue him, like a knight in shining armour.

“What are you doing with my boyfriend,” Craig says flatly.

Tweek isn't sure if that was a statement or a question. It's hard to tell with Craig sometimes, especially when his face is as blank as it is now. He gives nothing away; a poker face to rival competitive gamblers.

“Nothing,” he says. “we were just coming to a little arrangement in exchange for information on who took his goodies.”

“Uh-huh.”

Nothing in Craig's expression changes in the slightest, but he extends an arm towards Tweek to take his hand. As he does, Tweek spots a telling purple stain, guilty against the azure of Craig's jacket. It’s present and _sticky and in between his fingers and on his sleeve and on the front of his jacket and on the strings of his hat!_ The chase is on. The gazelle has fallen from the pack and is about to be annihilated.

With a loud slam, Craig finds himself unexpectedly thrown against the lockers by his boyfriend who has him by the collar. He throws his hands up in surprise.

“What was that for?” he yells, as Tweek inspects his jacket. Personal space is non-existent; Tweek has his face pressed into the stain he spotted, sticky and telling. He is a bloodhound, inhaling the stain to find the scent of sweet cherries and touches it with his finger. As soon as he licks his hand, he knows. Tweek snarls with his teeth bared and claws out.

“You ate my fucking cookies?!”

He doesn't know if that was a question or a statement either. The shrill in Tweek’s voice attract the attention of the nearby kids, causing a crowd to form a small circle around the two boys quarreling.

“I did,” Craig punctuates with a push. “It had my _name_ on it.”

This isn't a lie as such. Tweek did write his name on it. However, he also wrote his own. If he remembers right, it wasn’t so much a “for Craig and Tweek” as much as a “Tweek + Craig” encased in a poorly drawn heart on the paper bag.

“It had mine too, Ass-Master!”

Tweek pushes back. A flurry of pushes knocks Craig onto his bottom with a thud. Tweek looms over Craig; his just over four feet stature now looking much more like forty feet from down below. Craig pulls a crumpled brown package from his pocket and points angrily to his name.

  
“THAT’S MY NAME NEXT TO YOURS!”, Tweek shrieks hysterically.

Craig pulls out a squashed cookie from the bag, a sad mess of its former glory with its delicious filling now all over the inside of the packaging and his hand. Crumbs fall to a little pile on the floor next to his legs as he holds it up for his boyfriend to see.

“So I guess this one’s yours, then?”

He narrows his eyes at Tweek. They are two cats, locked in a staring battle of wits until one relents or snaps first. Craig makes the first move. He stuffs every piece of the sweet treat into his mouth with speed, keeping Tweek’s gaze as he does it, until he raises a sticky middle finger before sucking the jam off. He closes his eyes and moans in melodramatic pleasure as he cleans the one fingered salute, back and forth, in and out and letting a slippery tongue snake around the digit for Tweek to see. It's a vulgar display of antagonism; Craig didn't even chew to savour it.

If a cape buffalo is the second most dangerous mammal on the planet, Tweek is the first. He charges to the floor to land the first punch. Fists fly as the children chant around them and it’s impossible to tell where Tweek ends and Craig begins in the flurry of limbs. The two are a hurricane of blue, yellow and green, destroying everything in their path. The flock of spectators know to stand well back, lest they get caught in the crossfire.

“Get him, Tweek!” Encourages Butters from the sidelines.

From somewhere in the blur of violence, Craig lands a kick that separates the pair. He readies himself for another onslaught of punches and Tweek does the same.

“Quit being a dick, Tweek!”

“I’m not the dick, DICK!”

“Yes, you _ARE_!” Craig pants, winded from their fight. “I’m breaking up with you!”

“Not if I break up with you first! Enjoy your new relationship with ngh- TYPE TWO DIABETES, ASSHOLE!”

“I will, it was fucking delicious!” Craig yells back, throwing up two middle fingers as he walks off backwards to the other side of the hall.

As Tweek storms off, he can hear Cartman hollering from the hallway that he owes him for the information. He's in half a mind to go back and beat the shit out of him too, but that would only get him in even more trouble with the principal. He keeps waiting for the announcement over the tannoy for them to go, but it never comes.

In the last class of the day, Tweek glares at Craig the best he can with his bruised face. Craig responds by taking out that cursed brown paper bag, displaying it in a way that the heart with their names are clear to see and smugly ripping it straight down the middle. Tweek mouths an obvious fuck you, and is comforted by a stray hand and a “there, there, little buddy,” from Butters.

In the end, when he goes home that night, he takes to staying up in his room and telling the underpants gnomes that they could fuck off too for the whole evening.

* * *

 

The bruises on his arms and legs develop something fierce overnight. Craig has painted him blue, yellow and green from their scrap yesterday. He'd rather stay in bed than go to school that morning, but his mom makes him go. Something about being taken away by the police for truancy and never to be seen again scares him just enough into getting ready.

  
He spots Craig waiting for him at the front of the school, looking equally as morose and battered. Tweek folds his arms and does his best to look intimidating.

“Hi Tweek,” Craig says flatly.

“ngh- hi,” he returns.

Craig fiddles with his backpack for what feels like a century and hands him a small brown paper bag. It's got 'Craig + Tweek’ enclosed in a heart written on it. It's obvious by the writing Craig tried his best to be neat and took great care while drawing.

“What's this?”

“Uh, I made it. To say sorry. For being a dick.”

As Tweek goes to inspect its contents, he notices it smells sweet, spicy and a little burnt. When he opens it, he discovers some misshapen cookies, messily decorated with pink icing and charred black on some of the ends.

“They’re supposed to be hearts,” Craig offers.

“Your cookies suck,” Tweek says with a mouthful. They don’t really, at least not entirely. Craig covered up the majority of the burnt parts with extra icing. He’s impressed Craig even tried making gingerbread as an apology present.

“Yeah, well,” He mumbles as he looks at his feet. “They'd probably be better if I had a boyfriend to show me how to make them better. But I don't, so they're not.”

“Do you want me to show you how to make them better?”

“I don't know. You broke up with me.”

Tweek extends a small, sticky hand towards Craig who takes it gratefully, dirtying his own hand in the process. They smile at each other as Tweek pushes one of the lesser burnt gingerbreads into Craig's mouth.

“Does this mean we’re boyfriends again?”

Tweek smiles and nods, playfully knocking into Craig with his shoulder.

Tweek is a goose, unafraid to fight to defend its territory, but more importantly, incredibly affectionate to their partner. A goose mates for life and so does Tweek. Their hands connect like yesterday never happened and the pair are happy to be in each other’s company again, much to the surprise of the kids they pass by the lockers. Cartman is the only exception; he yells something about Tweek owing him double for getting them back together and he has no idea what that means. He's certain Craig made the gingerbread though, and even though they're burnt at the edges, he thinks he prefers them to whatever his mom made. They probably weren’t even that good anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> That last little bit is a reference to Cupid Me, sorry they're both such dicks!
> 
> P.S, do you know how hard it is as a Brit to not write biscuit when we're referring to cookies? Damn.
> 
> Comments welcome as always.


End file.
